


you're not weak and you never were

by wingedgrace



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Batfamily, Batfamily Angst, Batfamily Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, i mean what else do you expect from me at this point?, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26020732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedgrace/pseuds/wingedgrace
Summary: Dick opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and gusted out a sigh instead. “Look. I know I… I made mistakes. We’re not as close as we used to be. But if something’s bothering you, you can talk to me.” And Dick was a brilliant showman and actor, but even he couldn’t hide every trace of guilt and desperation from his expression. “You know that, right?”orBatman!Dick and RedRobin!Tim have a chat.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 222





	you're not weak and you never were

**Author's Note:**

> takes place right at the end of the Pre New 52 era, like at the end of the Red Robin series. If you haven’t read it, no worries! Dick is Batman, Bruce is Batman and back from the dead, Tim is Red Robin and Damian is Robin.
> 
> Trigger warning in the end notes, but everything is tagged as well.

“You were pretty quiet on patrol, Tim,” Dick said casually as the two of them entered the Batcave. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Tim slapped a pre-memorized smile on his face for good measure. And it wasn’t a lie. He _was_ fine. “Just a little tired.”

Dick nodded, but he didn’t seem entirely convinced, and man, Tim was not in the mood for a heart-to-heart conversation. His muscles ached. He was exhausted. He was hot and stinky and sweaty and all he wanted to do was peel off his Red Robin suit and take a shower; maybe sleep for a few hours before he had to head to work at Wayne Enterprises.

Dick turned in the direction of the Batcomputer and Tim heaved an inward sigh of relief, heading to the showers before Dick could change his mind. If Dick had case files to go over, he was less likely to start a lengthy discussion about emotions. And if Tim was already in the shower, well, the chances would drop even lower.

He loved his older brother, he really did. Dick was always eager to listen and give advice, and that had been what he’d needed when he was younger, especially in his early Robin days.

But now he was older. He’d trained with martial arts masters, saved the world dozens of times, led teams of aliens and gods, dated (yes that definitely deserved a category of its own), globetrotted with the League of Assassins, mourned two fathers, buried friends and teammates, and even had some of them come back to life. He’d been through enough grief and mental hardship that he’d gotten very used to analyzing himself and where he was at, mental health-wise. Because you can’t face danger head on in the field if you’re severely hurt from emotional trauma any more than you can with physical injuries.

He reached the showers and shoved his suit off; hands brushing over the scar where his spleen used to be. As much as the Teen Titans made jokes about his lack of self care and inability to take a break, it was only half true. He took very careful stock of his overall health and took the exact minimum time off. After his impromptu splenectomy, he’d been mindful of the stitches and watched for infection. And he didn’t have the time to take care of his mental state after Bruce had “died,” because he’d been too busy proving that Bruce was alive, but. He was very aware of his feelings and negative thought patterns and everything.

And that was one of the reasons for his new… hesitance to talk with Dick. Beyond the old wound of Dick shoving him out of the way for Damian to become Robin. Outside of Stephanie and the rest of the Batfamily and all the Teen Titans minus Conner thinking he was crazy for believing Bruce was alive. At the risk of sounding arrogant, he was very good at discerning his own state of being. Not that he was a good example of how to take care of yourself, but he was fully aware of all his problems. He never let them get in the way of his performance in the field.

He turned on the shower head, stepping into the spray straight away instead of waiting for it to heat up. He knew how to work through his own issues. He didn’t want someone to tell him how to handle his life. He didn’t need Dick infusing him with older brotherly Batman advice. He just wanted someone to listen.

And he could admit to himself, in the privacy of his own thoughts, that he really, really didn’t want to start that conversation with Dick only to be interrupted by Damian and Bruce returning from patrol.

Damian.

The unbelievably arrogant little bastard –yes, an actual bastard in the fullest meaning of the word – that got a free pass for his inexcusable behaviour. Yeah, the kid had a rough childhood, sure. But _understanding_ where he came from didn’t make Tim _like_ the little monster.

He scrubbed at his scalp harder than was strictly necessary to lather shampoo. He’d always been good at figuring people out, at solving puzzles; at seeing people as they really were, not as who they were pretending to be. That’s how he’d figured out the secret identities of Batman and Robin when he was only twelve. It’s how he’d understood as a thirteen-year-old civilian that Batman needed a Robin, even more than Nightwing himself had realized. It’s why he was now a good enough detective that even Ra’s al Ghul had acknowledged him.

But knowing intellectually that Damian didn’t know any better was a lot easier than knowing it emotionally. He shouldn’t be so vulnerable to Damian’s insults – he didn’t let taunts from the Gotham Rogues get under his skin so easily, for crying out loud – but sometimes the gremlin’s words just felt like knives to his otherwise repressed emotions.

 _He bleeds the need to be accepted,_ Dick had said once. Maybe it was true. Maybe he should turn the other cheek and give the little baby sociopath a break.

He was just tired. That was it. He’d get a good solid four hours of sleep and then spend long enough in boring WE meetings that he’d forget all about it.

He watched the suds flow down the drain with a detached sense of amusement. _Yeah, right._

He shut the water off and half-heartedly towelled himself dry. All his clothes were upstairs in the Manor, but he found an old pair of sweatpants and a Gotham U pullover that was probably Dick and Bruce’s respectively. Stolen clothes always smelt better anyway.

He slipped them on, briefly wondering if he was setting himself up for Damian to scorn him with some sort of jab at how he was so much smaller and weaker than both Dick and Bruce. How the clothes that fit them perfectly were loose and baggy on him, without the stature and broad shoulders to fill them out. He hadn’t heard the roar of the Batmobile echo in the cave, though, so Batman and Robin had yet to return. Tim could probably slip upstairs and avoid facing either of them.

He re-emerged into the Cave, eager to drag himself to his bedroom and collapse.

Dick waved him over to the computers, and Tim felt his anxiety spike involuntarily. “Can I borrow your brain for a few minutes?”

Keeping his face neutral he trudged wearily across the cold, slightly damp stone. It made him realize he’d forgotten to hunt for socks. “Damian and Bruce not back yet?”

“They said they were crashing in the penthouse tonight.” Dick had pulled his cowl down, so there was nothing hiding the way his eyes scanned Tim over. “You’re sure you’re okay? You still seem a little off.”

“I’m fine,” he tried not to snap. He now had only 3 hours and 54 minutes before he had to wake up for work. “What’s up?”

Dick opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and gusted out a sigh instead. “Look. I know I… I made mistakes. We’re not as close as we used to be. But if something’s bothering you, you can talk to me.” And Dick was a brilliant showman and actor, but even he couldn’t hide every trace of guilt and desperation from his expression. “You know that, right?”

Tim grimaced. “I know. Thanks.”

Dick raised his eyebrows a little, as if to say _There’s no time like the present!_ and it lodged a lump in Tim’s throat without his permission. He wouldn’t mind talking with Dick, maybe, but – “it’s just something Damian said. He was reading over some intel. It’s nothing.”

Dick smiled like an exasperated parent of a preschooler throwing a tantrum: simultaneously ready to complain about their child for hours but also willing to defend them to death. “Tim, he’s been brainwashed by the League of Assassin’s ideals for most of his life. He-“

“I know!” Tim hadn’t meant to shout, but the amount of echoes launched through the cave meant he probably had. “I’m not – I know that, Dick. I know it’s not his fault, I know I shouldn’t let it bother me but it did. Can we move on?”

“Tim,” Dick said more gently. “I love the kid like he’s my – like he’s mine. He’s my Robin, and my brother, but you are, too.”

Brother, Robin, family, all words that threw him back years, when he was newly Robin and Dick was Nightwing and everything was so much simpler. Before he’d lost so many loved ones. When he was happier, and he and Dick talked about everything.

“What did he say?”

“It was just.” Tim couldn’t look his brother in the eyes. He fidgeted with the too-long sleeves. “He was reading the cause of death to see if there were details pertinent to the case. He said something about how he couldn’t imagine someone being weak enough to take their own life instead of working to change their life. How it was the easy way out.”

“Tim,” Dick said sorrowfully, and Tim felt absurdly like he’d ratted out a dirty secret he should have kept to himself.

“I never really would have. I never made a plan, or anything. I know I told you this already, after Jack died, but I never told anyone else. I thought about it, how everything just seemed so endlessly hard, but I never would have done it. I didn’t want to hurt you, and everyone else. I wouldn’t have.”

“I know, Tim.”

“Damian doesn’t know,” Tim heard himself say. “He doesn’t know I’ve thought about it; used to think about it. And I wanted to tell him, to prove him wrong, that it’s not weak, it’s just thinking that – that you don’t matter, that you’re insignificant enough that it wouldn’t matter, that you’ll never do enough right anyway, that everything hurts so much, that it’s all pointless anyway, everyone dies –“

“Tim.” Dick’s voice was warm and so were the arms that were suddenly wrapped around his body.

“But I’m mostly past that now, and I feel like if I brought it up he’d just mock me for it, and I’m just so tired.” Tim returned the hug wearily. “I’m not weak. But I’m tired of dealing with him all the time.”

“You’re not weak,” Dick agreed. “And you never were.”

“I mostly don’t think like that anymore,” Tim added. He didn’t want Dick to worry about him. Batman had enough on his plate already as it was. “It was mostly just after my dad died.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better now.” Dick squeezed him tighter, the armoured gauntlets of his gloves solid against the loose oversized pullover. “But I’d still like to support you, even if you’re in a better place now. Anything you want to talk about, call me.”

“I don’t –“ Tim tried to think of how to word it without spitting in the face of his brother’s care. “I don’t need advice, usually. I just need someone to listen.”

“I can do that. Just let me know, okay? Smack me if I’m being too overbearing and I promise I’ll back off.”

Relief eased the knot of anxiety that he hadn’t even realized was coiled in his chest. And suddenly he felt a bit silly for ever thinking Dick would try to force advice onto him.

“I always told myself I’d never get as bad as Bruce was, but here I am, tripping over the L word.” Dick gave an awkward little chuckle. “I love you, Tim, and I’m so, so proud of you. I’m so glad you’re alive. I’m so honoured to have you as my brother. You’re smart and capable and I honestly see you as an equal. But even without all the fancy packaging – the martial arts moves and detective work and computer skills – you have such a good heart. You’re just a fantastic human being.”

“You’re such a sap,” Tim said, voice rough enough to betray him.

“I’ll be a sap if that’s what you need.” Dick’s face was pressed against the top of Tim’s head, so he could feel Dick’s expression change into a smile. “I mean it. I’m willing to say I love you as often as you need to hear it.”

Tim must have also inherited Bruce’s famous emotional constipation, because the words _I love you too_ refused to form on his lips. “Thanks,” he said lamely.

But Dick understood; had always understood him, and simply nodded against Tim’s scalp. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> TW: discussion of suicide/suicidal ideations. (If there's anything else I should add, please let me know.)
> 
> Leave a comment maybe if you want or don't it's up to you really :)


End file.
